


You don't have to be alone

by Subjective



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Childhood Abuse, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Loner Stiles Stilinski, Love Confessions, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Some Fluff, Some Humor, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, scarred Stiles Stilinski, school abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-24 10:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19171105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Subjective/pseuds/Subjective
Summary: Stiles after years of abuse from his father finally is helped out of the situation. But, as it appears, his dad wasn't his only problem.Inspired by "Change" written by Immortal_Magic_Freak.





	1. Graduation

Blood. Blood on my hands. Blood on my shirt. Blood on my face. Blood under my fingernails. Blood in my mouth. My own blood. It’s what happens when you tell your alcohol- and drugaddicted dad that you are homosexual. The dad that tells you everyday that this should’ve been you who died instead of your mom, that tells you that he wishes you were not born at all. The same man whose sperm created you yells at you for your failures at school which can even be A+ because he doesn’t feed you with his own money, which he could as well spend on some drugs or alcohol for you to not be the best student in school. It is a summer night June 19th 2015 after highschool graduation (yes I overstepped some classes) on which I decided to show my grades to dad to please him so his reaction to my predicament wouldn’t be violent. But as you’ve probably guessed I was really wrong for doing this.

„You fucking fag!” he yells as he beats me repeatedly with a broken beer bottle cutting some more skin on my hands as I shield my face with them. „You like dicks, you fag, huh?” He kicks me this time so I land on my back, defenceless as vision in the corner of my eyes blackens and consciousness dissolves in pain. „I feed you everyday for you to bring me this fantastic news?” he stutters. „Your mom gave birth in hours of immense pain for you to tell that you like sticking dick up your ass, you fucking perv?!” He kicks me in the face and this is what I remember last as I fall into slumber filled to the brim with nightmares.

 

 

The next thing I know I hear a beeping. A rythmic beeping to my left which I already know too well as a too well known beeping of cardiograph which I heard every time after my dad had drunk a little bit too much. Every time he would be forgiven as he always explained that an accident happened in home during some work with furnitures.

Being in hospital is the second best thing in my life that has been happening to me since my mom died 8 years ago from breast cancer soon after Christmass Eve which me and my dad spent on being at my mom’s dying bed side watching the cardiograph slowed down beeping to at the end start screeching as it showed a straight green line on its screen, my mom’s pale hands stopping squeezing my own and dad’s, a tear streaming down her a bit yellowish cheek, eyes closed, lips a bit agape and me observing the moment my world collapsed. It seems to me like it was just yesterday. The bluish curtains in the window by her bed and white walls, the pale blue sheets and rog. This image is always visiting my dreams every night.

„Mr. Stilinski, I see you are waking up” I hear a soft feminine voice speak. I open my eyes to look at the speaking woman. It is surprisingly a police officer. She is a dark-skinned woman with long curly hair tied in a ponytail holding a notebook and a pen. From looks I can tell she is at least thirty years old. All the times I was waking up in here I was greeted by a nurse or a doctor so it’s nice to have an outstand from the routine. „We’d like to ask you a few questions... if you’d like to answer of cource”

‘If I’d like to answer’ that’s another surprise. Someone not demanding anything from me is so nice. I hear it so little nowadays.

„W-what happened?” I ask not believing it can be real.

„You know best what happened.”

„Well... I had an accident and fell off stairs in home and then...” I start explaining but I am never given the opportunity to end the mantra as the policewoman cuts herself in.

„Those stairs have to be with really sharp edges, as sharp as a shattered glass bottle.” She says rhetoretically, crossing her hands on her chest, looking at me expectantly. „We know everything, mr. Stilinski. Your dad is no longer a threat to you. He is locked up in the arrest for what he has been doing to you for those past years. You don’t need to worry that he will beat the living soul out of you if you don’t tell me the tale you two agreed on.” Her eyes soften as she unfolds her hands. She comes to the bed and sits on the egde grabbing my hands into her own. „This monster will never do anything bad to you nor will you have to see his face ever again. Now please just tell me. What did he do to you?” She says her voice soft. She is clearly pitying on me which I hate but I see that her intentions are clear so I don’t show my feelings towards the action.

From the emblem on her chest I can see that she is a state police officer so she is not under my dad’s urisdiction (yes my dad is a policeman, a sheriff to top it all), so I open up myself to her but not fully. I am scared of telling anybody else that I am homosexual after what my dad did to me, I know it is senseless but trauma can do it to people sometimes, so I told her that it was because of my grades which he didn’t like too well because not all of them were S. She is listening to all of my story, noting every word in her notebook but she probably had recorder with her so it didn’t matter to me. She pulls some cringed faces at some of my graphical descriptions of what my father was doing to me for those past years.

When I end my story she heaves a deep sigh and closes her notebook. She looks at me with a bit watery eyes but there is no pity in them now. The only thing that I can see is the clear anger and sadness which I know aren’t directed at me but my dad.

„I know I am not supposed to say something like this but I hope he will die a slow death.” She says angrily.

I turn my head away from her embarassed that I agree with her, even though I am not supposed to wish my own dad a terrible death.

„I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you...” she starts to explain herself but I stop her by shaking my head.

„It’s not that. You didn’t offend me. I just...” I want to say that I’d like to agree with her but I can find no power to formulate such words.

„You don’t need to say anything more, Stiles, if I can adress you unformally...” She says waiting for my respond to which I nod. „I am sgt. Megan Heugh, but call me Meg.”

„I can see your emblem, you know?” I tell loughing slightly to losen up the athmosphere.

„I guess you can.” She answers with her own lough. „But my point is, Stiles, you can always reach me out if you have any kind of problem with something or someone” she says tearing a sheet of paper from her notebook and writing down something. After she finishes she hands me the piece of paper on which are some digits which I assume are her phone number, which is a problem because I have none.

„The thing is... My dad has never gave me a phone for two reasons. First, because he had no money to afford one. And second is that so I had no option to call authorities.”

„Oh...” She says dazed, but then her eyes sharpen. „Oh!”

„Yeah...” I say slightly saddened by the fact.

„No problem. I will leave it for your adoptive mother then.” She says with a smile.

„For who?”


	2. Monsters

Parents – people who are supposed to love us, to protect us, to bring us up to be a normal member of society. But who are your true parents? The people whose gametes fused to create a new life – you, or the people which do those things which these first were supposed to do, but somehow fucked up. Don’t misinterpret my words, my mom was a great parent, a woman whose face I will always see in my dreams – or nightmares in this instance, but my dad… I think mom was the only thing that kept him from falling over the edge of sanity to the depths of craziness. You know what Joker said right? I’m talking about “The Dark Knight”. “[…] You see, madness as you know is like gravity… all it takes is a little push…”. I think that this quote is perfect to describe what happened to him. And you know, what? I can hardly bring myself to blame my dad for what he was doing to me for those past years. I preferred to think of it like a demon had possessed him and that it wasn’t my dad after all. That it wasn’t hands of the second closest person to me that beat me to oblivion, those hands which sometimes strangled me to the moment that my Adam’s apple almost collapsed. That it wasn’t his lips that spat at me after he was done with me, that told every day how worthless I am. It must’ve been a demon.

For a young teen years old boy, a demon is a pretty logical excuse, especially in times like these, in which supernatural people come out of the darkness to the streets, demanding their rights alongside homosexual people. But they are considered a threat to the wealth of society, so their peaceful demonstrations are suppressed by a couple of kilograms of gunpowder, bullets, and wolfsbane. Even in a shithole like Beacon Hills were demonstrations which were quickly overpowered by the arsenal of the Argent family. Among us, “youngsters”, we call them “Wolf Hunters”. They cooperate with the government so everything they did was legal and even praised by the authorities. At first, the demonstrators didn’t give up. They had their chairmen, the Hale family. I don’t really remember their names but they were wise people from what I could hear from their speeches. Everybody knew what Hale family was because they were probably the richest family in whole Beacon Hills- well maybe except the Argents, but anyway… They all lived in a huge residence, but it wasn’t that there only lived a couple of people. The Hale family counted around 10 members so it was understandable why they would buy such a property. So… Getting back to the topic. They were the soul of the demonstrations. As long as the Hales were there, the demonstrations were happening. But one night my dad picked up a phone.

 

“Hello?” He asks pissed off as the person which just phones him, interrupts a very important match of football which he needs to watch live or everything will no longer have the sense to him. “W-what fire? The Hales house? I will be there.” He says and puts down the phone. A huge smile draws on his face, a thing which I didn’t see for eternity. He turns to me putting on his leather, officer shoes, and shirt. “Stiles… Dress up. We’re going to see some fireworks”.

Stunned I dress as I am told. Then we go to his old, creamy Chevrolet with black, leather, slightly frayed upholstery. I sit down as always in the back seat near the left window (a habit so he wouldn’t be able to reach me so easily if something snapped in his head). After he sits down in the driver’s seat he opens a drawer next to the passenger seat and takes out a CD. “Ah! Got you!” he exclaims happily almost dancing in his seat. “This is the occasion!” he says as he puts the CD in the player. For a moment nothing happens so his mood quickly turns from euphoric to frustrated. He hits the player once and watches for a second before we hear a sound of electric and bass guitar and percussion coming from the in-built speakers. I quickly recognize the track as “Kashmir” from Led Zeppelin. It’s one of my favorite songs so I bob my head a little unconsciously to the rhythm. My dad puts the keys in the slot and starts up the engine also slightly bobbing his head to the rhythm. As we pull off, he looks in the mirror to look at me, when he sees me moving my head with the music he says: “Yeah, feel the moment, son, ‘cause we are going to see one of the most beautiful things in the world”.

As we move up the road I see a few police cars and fire trucks passing us with sirens turned on. It’s dark outside, the road barely lit, but after a few minutes, everything changes.

My dad slows down the car as an orange beam appears lighting the whole inside of the car. My dad turns his head left to admire the view. In this light, I can clearly see the marks of sluggish shaving on his skin as there appear to be lots of scars from cuts. Suddenly before my eyes appears the Hale house… The Hale house in flames. In front of the building stands a whole troop of policemen. Some of them just stand supporting their hands on hips with their police huts put on, some of them eating their late supper and others chatting. The whole street is blocked with police cars and the fire trucks that passed by earlier.

As we stop I see one of the policemen walking towards us. My dad leaves the car saying “stay” like to a dog and closes the door behind him. He greets the officer with a “bro hug” and they start chatting, like there was no burning building just beside them, like there were no people who probably burned to death or are just burning or suffocating with the smoke which cannot escape from the closed rooms of the mansion, they scream cannot be heard because of the noise of flames and collapse of the property, the firemen trying to extinguish it and break in so they could save someone, but police is clearly satisfied as it is, like it was a happy picnic night around the campfire.

This world is full of monsters and the worst thing is that they do not necessarily have to change their skins to be monsters. They are sometimes closer than you think, even if they are still humans.

With this thought and slowly fading out Led Zeppelin, my head supported against the window I fall into a slumber filled with images of burning people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the chapter. The story will be constantly interleaved with the thoughts and memories of Stiles. Let me know if you like it or not.


End file.
